


The Jump'n Jyn Erso Gang

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Human K-2SO, Rogue One AU, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: Jyn Erso, a lawless destitute, is leaving behind the Wild West (with all its painful memories) once and for all! Heading East to start a new life on her own terms, two strangers interrupt Jyn's plan. They claim the only way to save the town of Santa Fe requires Jyn to confront her past; coming face to face with the man who stole everything from her family in one night: the man with the white hat - who papa called, "Orson."





	1. The Unlucky Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wild West/Revenge story AU ... at the very least I wanted. And the names haven't been changed: I understand this may be glaring and annoying to some but it was too strange to type anything but their actual names for me.

When Jyn tried to recollect life before their farm on the dusty prairie, all she could find were glimpses that made little sense. Buildings of light stone that spanned into the sky – churches her papa swore were built by ancient Kings straight out of fairy tales: that was Jyn’s concept of Europe; the place they started from. Her parents prided themselves for being ‘mutts’, originating from all over the European continent. And Jyn had overheard the general store clerk mutter to his wife that the so-called ‘Jones’ family were distinctly ‘too foreign to be trusted’. Mama was shrewd enough to usher Jyn out the door before the seven year old exclaimed, “But we’re not the Jones’: we’re Ersos-” 

Once again, Jyn’s parents quizzed her on the long ride home.

“Who are you,” papa prompted; smiling too tightly down at her. 

“Jyn. I’m Jyn Erso and you’re –“ 

“I am Daniel Jones,” papa incorrectly stated. “Your mama is Martha Jones. And you are Jane – “ 

“No,” Jyn disputed; swinging her head away to view the approaching desert instead of either parents’ raised brows. Jyn was not ready to give in to these new identities. Not even for papa. Of the many things that she was unsure of – where she was born, why they moved houses and countries so suddenly in the dead of night– Jyn knew her name. And already took great pride in the taste it left in her mouth. Simple but fierce: JYN ERSO. 

Mama clicked under her breath; flicking the reins of their wagon as she softly supplied, “She’ll learn in time – or at least learn when to stay silent.” 

Jyn felt a prickling on the back of her neck. Sure enough, when she turned back her papa was still regarding her with fond curiosity.

“It’s getting dark,” he broke the silence, pulling Jyn close for a half-hug. Papa pointed to the purple horizon where faint specs of white seemed to be easing across the landscape. “Your mama’s stars will be visible soon – and what do we call that constellation?” 

“Lyra,” Jyn excitedly proclaimed, grateful for one parent to be making sense again. 

“You’ll confuse her,” mama cautioned in a loud whisper.

“And what is next to Lyra, “asked papa.

“The fox,” Jyn answered. 

“Vulpecula the fox,” papa nodded. “But more importantly, Stardust… just above the fox is the Northern Cross –“ 

Jyn laughed, “the Swan!” 

Papa held her close, muttering the tales Jyn knew by heart. The night sky was a vivid map and storybook stretching out further than Jyn could see – paving the way to great adventures in the far reaches of the west. 

“Stardust,” murmured papa into Jyn’s ear. His pet name for Jyn– an endearment that at least hadn’t changed with their new names. 

“One day,” started Jyn with a yawn. “Will I be a constellation? Like mama?” 

Papa brushed his fingers through her hair, thinking for a moment before nodding, “If you are very brave, Stardust. It’s the selfless heroes we remember in the stars.” 

When the ‘Jones’ family reached their homestead, mama swung out of the wagon and came round to help Jyn down, pausing to press a kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

“You memorize the stars,” mama mused. “There have been times I thought your papa and I lost forever at sea – but the stars always brought us back to shore. The sky can tell you all you need to know.” 

Jyn cocked her head to the side, “Is the desert like the sea?”

“Drier,” papa teased as he led the horses towards the barn. 

Mama wrinkled her noses, leaning down to Jyn with a mischievous smirk, “And even more treacherous!”

It was less than a year later that Jyn woke in her cot; pressed against the wooden boards of their one room shack. The shadows of her parents by the fireside told her she’d not slept long, for they’d not gone to bed. From the cot she could make out the single window – a sprinkling of stars visible as she strained her eyes to view them; practicing their names and placement as she attempted to fall back asleep. 

Jyn’s stomach turned when she realized the stars were burning too orange; growing larger and larger as they rapidly approached the Jones’ front gate. Jyn sat up; recognizing what had woken her was an insistent pounding that shook the shack’s walls. Horse hooves. And a lot of them.

Mama crossed the room, rifle in hand, bringing a large wooden brace down across their only door. 

“-It buys us time,” Mama explained over her shoulder to papa. “Burn them, Galen… what are you waiting for?” 

Jyn turned her attention back to the fireplace, watching her papa clutching a stack of paper. His research. Jyn knew he still worked on those pages every night and had since before she was even born. Papa had transported most of his research all the way from Europe. Even when she’d witnessed her parents bartering and leaving behind treasures and trinkets as they’d fled place after place, papa’s research was never up for negotiation or review. It was as constant to the Ersos’ lives as… as Jyn was herself! Jyn felt a pang of loss as she watched her papa fling the papers into the fire with a choked sob. He grabbed a poker and hastened the papers demise; stoking the flames as Jyn’s mama approached and clasped something around her daughter’s neck: a simple gold cross. Another of her parents’ constants – Lyra Erso’s cross necklace. Never to be taken off or sold. 

The cold cross against her skin was the final straw – Jyn fought back tears as her mama gestured under the bed, “Get your boots and breeches on – do you remember the red rocks?” 

Mama is steel; cool and strong for the rest of them. Yet always patient. She waits for Jyn to nod before continuing, “You are going to do exactly what we’ve showed you. Take the tunnel to the barn – Sammy is the fastest horse. Take him and ride for the red rocks.” 

“North,” papa finally speaks. “You’ll be riding north towards the rocks.” 

Jyn finishes with her boots; looking at each parent before asking, “And you’ll meet me at the red rocks?” 

When she’s older, Jyn would find herself capable of appreciating that neither parent lied to her. Her mama simply fixed Jyn’s collar one last time, checking to make sure her child was warm – like it would matter in all this mess, being warm or not!

The horsemen were already making quick work of their door; the wood splintering as the family hastens to action. 

“… An old friend… he will find you there,” mama promises as she locks eyes with Jyn – an older Jyn would wonder if this was Lyra Erso attempting to transfer all her sterling strength to her daughter. An older Jyn would also bitterly ask herself if it had worked. 

Papa open the cellar door, helping Jyn down steep steps. Mama took up her post at the lone window, shotgun ready and willing. Jyn’s last glimpse at the home they’d almost had were both her parents watching as she lowered herself into darkness; grief and guilt etched into their faces –and shame for everything that had to be left unsaid. 

“Be brave, Stardust,” is papa’s farewell as he lowers the trapdoor and Jyn finds herself surrounded by sudden blackness. She sees a faint light between the floorboards – jumps out of her skin when she hears the wooden brace fracture and the floorboards creak as the enemy enters the room. Jyn attempts to calm herself. Breathing short, shallow breathes; imagining what mama would do just before pulling the trigger.

All movement stops but one set of footsteps above; the trickle of new spurs approached the center of their shack – and clapping? A single set of hands applauded from above. 

“Very well played, Galen – oh, and Lyra! Gun in hand. How very quaint. I almost feel young again –“ 

“You are not taking my husband,” mama roars from above; the sound of a shotgun cocking – followed by several more being readied.

Jyn knows the plan. She should be moving; feeling around for the tunnel and riding far from here. North. Papa said to the north. Mama said to the red rocks. But Jyn finds herself rooted in place. A stubborn hope that maybe this man will reply, “Understood - have a happy life,” and leave them be. 

A chilled laugh breaks the silence, “Now, now – whatever you may like to believe, I never choose to resort to violence. I like to fancy myself a man searching for much higher pursuits. We were friends once – striving for a common goal. Galen, we can have everything again. And think of those creature comforts: you two must miss the finery -“ 

The male voice fades out - he’s pacing, Jyn realizes. Walking towards the fire still glowing a deep orange from all the paperwork it consumed. 

“I thought there was a child,” the man starts again. “I remember Lyra pregnant and attending some sort of baptismal ceremony – was that in Venice? Budapest? It does all seem to blur after awhile.” 

“Dead,” papa says. “Our – our child died. Years ago. During a cholera outbreak.” 

“Pity,” the man replied in a bored voice. “Condolences and all that… I do hope this page I’ve pulled out of the fire isn’t everything left of … of our invention, Galen!”

“We could have changed the world, Orson. We could have helped thousands of people live safer, happier lives –“ 

“We can still change the world, Galen – you’ll just have to write it all down again. Another – what? Took twenty years to sort out the first time? But I’m in the mood to be forgiving– I’ll give you ten.” 

Mama’s voice again, “Never.”

“This isn’t about you, Lyra. Galen and I are reworking our old deal – leave the men to this sort of thing – “ 

“And I’m telling you that my husband isn’t going to –“ 

Edging towards the tunnel, Jyn knocked over a sack of flour. The dull thud was barely audible –she silently prayed it had gone unnoticed. Thinking herself in the clear, Jyn scooted farther into the depth when an accidental tug on the wall started a chain reaction of tin mugs and china scattering to the floor; pinging against each other to make a clatter Jyn knew would be heard. The spurs echoed from above as the man moved for the trap door.

“What do we have here,” the male voice teased. 

Another set of feet pounded over-top. Mama shrieking from above, “NO!”

Two sets of gunshots – a third following in the aftermath. Jyn heard something heavy fall above her hiding space; felt drops of something soaking through the floorboards and landing on her face. The smell of gunpowder laced with something more sinister: iron. Blood, Jyn realized. Her papa screamed; sobbing with unearthly affliction– Jyn shook herself as if awaking from a trance. On hands and knees she crawled for the tunnel – forcing herself to not consider anything but the plan until she reached those red rocks. Steady breaths, she reminded herself. Fast feet – steady breaths. She couldn’t think of what was running down her face. But somehow she knew just what could elicit such a noise from her papa – and that her world would never be the same again. 

She continued in darkness; knees sinking into the soil. Her sight useless- it was pitch black and eyes watering in any case. The smells seemed all the stronger. Soil – what papa had handed her to smell during their first planting. 

“Smell that,” he’d asked; taking another whiff of the aroma. “That’s our land. A farmer has to understand their home earth and what its soil smells like.” 

Dirt smelled like dirt to Jyn. She nodded when papa urged that she smelled it too: wood varnish, freshly cut grass, and rainwater. It sounded more poetic than just saying manure and sand. 

Now, Jyn thought she could smell that hint of varnish in their soil – but than realized it was smoke filtering through the tunnel. Smoke. Iron -blood. And peppery gunpowder to round it all out! 

By the time Jyn reached the barn, the best horses had either been claimed by new owners or released into the night – Sammy among them. Jyn watched from the shadows of the barn as giant flames engulfed their little cabin – billows of yellow and orange flickered to the sky – eclipsing the stars above. In the glow of firelight, Jyn watched as her father was tethered to the back of horses, head hanging low in defeat. She could almost hear the ringing of the man’s spurs as he took the reins, dragging her papa into the night – a sleek white hat, sparkling from lack of use, retreated in the distance with his riders; until the white blur looked like a ghost dancing alone in the prairie. Her papa gone with it.

Her mama too, Jyn thought when she glanced back at the fire. Angry tears leaked down her face; tears that Jyn roughly wiped away with a dirty sleeve… only to find them replaced with more. 

All that remained was Ava – the old nag papa had pitied enough to purchase. Mama told him it was a waste of their money but papa claimed he’d known a sour mare on his childhood farm like Ava. The beast wouldn’t take the bite as Jyn saddled her; nipping at the young girl instead– and then lacked the spirit of going faster than a trot as Jyn headed north to meet her parents supposed ‘friend’. 

It wasn’t every morning for the past nine years that Jyn awoke to the telling trio of smoke, iron, and gunpowder. It had become a common enough occurrence – the byproduct of her lifestyle. However, the mornings where she wasn’t being attacked by gunslingers or smoked-out of a hiding place always left her mouth dry; knowing what she’d dreamt of the night before even if she couldn’t outright recall. Superstition dictated to Jyn that the days where she awoke to phantom smells and dreams of her childhood were precursors to the most unluckiest of days. 

A stiff neck hinted that this one would be particularly nasty as she uncoiled herself from sleep. Her bed last night a hayloft; stretched along the edge– eyes facing the ladder just in case an uninvited guest showed up.

The sun had yet to rise – forcing Jyn to look out on a dusting of fading stars as she surveyed the still sleeping town of Clearwater. 

“Damn stars,” spat Jyn with contempt as she shrugged out of her clothes; a shirt mended thrice too often and threadbare pants she’d stolen from a morgue along the way. The shirt and pants were as much her’s as the delicate skirt and jacket Jyn had left hanging from the rafters last night; fearful of staining or wrinkling her newest disguise. In another life, Jyn might have noted the fabric. Cotton maybe? A Muslin blend? But in this life the cloth was too soft and would probably cause her to sweat something awful once the sun rose. Jyn stepped begrudgingly into the hooped skirt, reminding herself it was ‘respectable’ – a soft blue that looked demure but wouldn’t draw too much attention. The sleeves of the jacket were horrid – Jyn attempted to stretched and found her mobility limited. When she lifted her arms over head she could almost hear the stitches snapping apart. 

Releasing a huff of hot air, she moved for the ladder, abandoning her castoffs where they’d fallen – she wouldn’t be needing them anymore. 

The contents of a small handbag were examined again: the documents and a small knife; dull from neglect. Jyn would have felt more at ease with a firearm but none she could locate fit in the bag. She busied herself at the water pump; washing dust from her hair and hands. Jyn thought she heard commotion again on Main Street as she looked up from the quick bath- noticing a young boy had been watching her from his window. Jyn winked in return, raising an index finger to her lips in a silent request to the youth before vanishing down the side street; fixing her hair into a crude bun next to the tavern’s outhouse. 

The bonnet might have been a Godsend, Jyn mused as she quickly regarded her reflection in a shop window. Hair was up and out of her face – bonnet hiding the majority of the mess. The dress unwrinkled and clean. Her face even appeared bright and healthy after she pinched her cheeks and started down Main Street in a relaxed stride. Even the hooped skirt was proving useful, forcing Jyn to take small steps instead of running to the train station like a mad woman. 

A point was made to not be the first person boarding. Nor the fifth or sixth. The seventh passenger showed responsibility in their scheduling – but not over eagerness, Jyn convinced herself. If the porter noticed her hands shaking as she passed her ticket to him, he at least did not appear suspicious. Once seated, Jyn counted to ten and looked to make sure the porter was busy with other passengers before running her fingers along the ticket. Every cent she had earned in her dubious lifetime went into one single train ticket out of here.

Back straight; hands primly folded across her lap – Jyn implemented her steady breathing; practiced in battles and shootouts across the territories. She nodded when gentleman passed with a tip of their hats. Matrons even found her unthreatening – smiling gently as they made their way through the train. 

Miss Eleanor J. Wilcox, Jyn told herself. You are Miss Wilcox, formally of Boston, Massachusetts. A young schoolmistress. Her fingers traced over the handbag – thinking of the letters inside. One letter of introduction dated nine months back served as proof of employment – wherever Abbottsville was. The second a letter from home; from an aunt conveying the death of a beloved grandmother.

The part of Jyn that feels anything these days does spare a moment to think of the real Miss Eleanor J. Wilcox – willing her alive and far away from here; teaching a schoolhouse of children and wondering why she’s received not a letter from home in all this time. 

Closing her eyes, Jyn wills that Miss Wilcox had not ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. Or worse. 

But she stays in character. Cracking open a book – the most studious looking volume she could pocket in this backwater town – and keeps her eyes focused on the pages; more sweeping across the shapes of the words than indulging in any meaning to be found. Her breath hitches when the final whistle blows – anticipating the motion of the train jerking forward; of ridding herself of the West once and for all. Maybe she really would end up in Miss Wilcox’s Boston. Or travel further to New York. Jyn wanted change. To never see sand and cacti again. She needed to see only tall buildings that blocked out the sun – and the stars. Definitely no more stars. Cloudy, busy, booming cities seemed more freedom than whatever foolishness brought ne’er do wells to the open, endless West. 

“Pardon me, Miss –“ a faintly British accent knocked Jyn back to reality. Her shoulders instantly hunched in defense – a natural tendency that Jyn had to force back to neutral; smiling pleasantly as she looked up to see a priest hovering over her. 

“- It would appear everywhere else is full,” the lanky priest was already walking past her for the seat by the window; knocking into Jyn’s hoop skirt in the process. When the hoop started to rise, the priest even had the gull to awkwardly pat the monstrosity back to the floor. Jyn was certain, had she an ounce of the Miss Wilcox’s modesty and integrity left, she’d have managed some sort of slap to defend her honor. Instead, Jyn went back to skimming her book; angling her body as far away from the newcomer without seeming obvious. 

“Not very practical,” the priest observed; causing Jyn to meet his gaze again. She raised an eyebrow in question only to have the priest gesture down at her skirt. “Skirts,” he gave an unnatural laugh but continued. “Do you know how many women a year perish after setting their own skirts on fire?” 

Jyn waited for the man to continue but after a long pause realized she might have to verbally participate.

“No,” said Jyn tartly.

The priest shrugged, glancing around the train anxiously before saying, “Well, it’s not something we have grounded research in – and I’m sure most families opt for more congenial causes of demise than ‘death by fiery hoops’ – but I feel confident in suggesting it’s fairly high.” 

Jyn rolled her eyes, bringing her book prop higher to hide behind.

“I shall make a point of minding my skirts then,” noted Jyn. 

“Good for you,” the priest praised sarcastically – causing Jyn to study him out of the corner of her vision. Fingers tapped against his long legs – he glanced around a bit too much. Jyn almost groaned. Of course a lifetime of rotten luck wasn’t over yet! She’d either managed to be sitting next to a pervert or a bank robber… or both. 

Jyn craned her neck, searching for the porter or a respectable-looking fellow. A good girl like Eleanor Wilcox shouldn’t have to travel in such discomfort… but Jyn shook her head ‘no’. It was better to deal with the strange priest for a couple of hours than draw too much attention. Freedom rested in being forgettable; easily overlooked. Not alerting the train of her presence. She’d certainly dealt with worse than a young priest fixated on oversized skirts. 

Settling back in her seat, Jyn smiled when she felt the train shifting into motion. Her body jerked forward as the screeching sound of metal scraping metal was heard. She was on her way - 

A flash of movement hurled himself into the empty seat between herself and the aisle – a last minute passenger who’d only just made the train? Over her book, Jyn noticed an unshaven man with unkempt hair – struggling out of his tan jacket and leaving the smell of strong whiskey reeking through their row. 

“Muchas disculpas,” a thick voice muttered when his elbow sent her book flying to the floor– scooped up quickly by the priest. The priest leafed through her pages – studying the contents like something was hidden within… and the drunk had rolled his jacket into a makeshift pillow and seemed to be ‘sleeping it off’. 

“I’ll take my book back,” Jyn grunted; grabbing for the volume. 

“Seemed normal enough,” the priest lamented as he released the spine. 

Jyn Erso reached her ‘wit’s end’ quicker than the average young woman her age; with a frequency few other’s could boast. She felt annoyance boiling over into anger at these men who were apparently her travel companions. But mainly at how a perfectly sound plan she’d spent months on could so quickly fall to pieces if she… if she smacked either man over the head and ran…

Jyn breathed in – and out. Closed her eyes and counted to ten; resigned to playing coy just as long as she could – until she felt the hand of the drunk brushing along her leg. He squeezed above her knee – smirking for a moment too long when Jyn slammed her book down. The drunk winced; straightening his reddened hand in front of his face to test the damage. 

“Cut the crap! You both clearly don’t realize who you’re dealing with here,” Jyn hissed; turning to glare at the priest as well in turn. “- If your purposes are to rob me: you’ve picked the sorriest possible target on this train. And if you’re white slavers, you have no idea the damage I can deal to a drunk and pervert if they even attempted to –“ 

“Wait,” the false-priest interrupted. “I’m the ‘pervert’ in this scenario? How – I was meant to be reassuring; a calming presence you could feel at ease with. I even shared a little anecdote with you. Sharing stories gains trust.” 

Jyn frowned, “About women being burned alive in hoop skirts?” 

The priest looked over her head; staring dejectedly at the drunk – who was now sitting taller in his seat; eyes no longer blurry but alert and intense. 

“I told you to stick to the weather,” the false-drunk directed at his comrade. He cleared his throat, “And, for whatever it’s worth, I was not taking advantage but making sure you were unarmed.” 

“I already signaled that she was, Cassian-“ 

“How wonderful that everyone is just putting everything out there now,” Jyn rasped. “But I repeat: you have no idea who you’re dealing with. I suggest you take this opportunity to find alternative seating before I’m forced to –“ 

Jyn watched with a strange fascination as the false-drunk’s tongue darted out to wet his lips; warm eyes studied her face – bracing to analyze her reaction. 

“When did you last see your father, Miss Erso?”


	2. An Offer

“It seems simple enough to me,” a condescending British accent ended the glaring match between Jyn and his compadre.

She’d been tricked; a final mirage from the desert in the form of vague promises about a father – the first time in years Jyn had even believed papa alive after all this time. And now she was stranded again – the eastern train she’d willingly exited with these two unknown men long gone by the time she’d realized neither had seen her papa firsthand. Neither of them even had a location of where Galen Erso might be found.

“- you come with us; appease an old acquaintance. You get information about your estranged father’s whereabouts. And Cassian and I get what we need to save the day in a grand heroic display of bravado… from where I’m standing, everyone wins!”

“You lied,” Jyn stated bluntly; knocking back the glass of brown liquor in one gulp. She smashed the glass unceremoniously back on the table, gesturing for the barkeep to return and refill. “And keep them coming,” she smirked. “- on these two’s tab…” she pointed across the table to her companions.

“We certainly will not –“ complained the false-priest, whose name appeared to be Kay. Whether a surname or proper name, Jyn couldn’t say as it was the only used interchangeably between the men.

“We lied,” mumbled the other man; unflinching. Cassian’s continued bored stare seemed to ask, ‘And what of it?’

“Never did we outright say, ‘We’re taking you to your father’,” argued Kay.

Jyn countered, “It was heavily implied-“

“A lie by omission of certain details does not carry the same moral weight as –“

“Kay,” interrupted Cassian. Then, directed across the table to Jyn, “We lied. I admit that. Now, we can all spend the day debating the merits and demerits of lying – or we can discuss what we need to do.”

“So you’re a liar,” Jyn scowled at him; not ready yet to lose this fight. Seeing herself trapped again either way, it was at least something she held some control over.

“An exceptional liar,” he admitted with conspicuous pride.

“You see, I find that highly suspicious and not necessarily the type of individuals I enter into business arrangements with.”

“Oh please,” said Kay. “We’re probably the most respectable ‘business’ associates you’ve ever dealt with.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

Kay cleared his throat for dramatic effect, “A sordid and diverse list of accomplishments, Outlaw. Armed robbery. Extortion. Cattle-rustling. Racketeering. Instigating a riot in order to rob a stagecoach – and now identity theft. You’ve been a very busy young woman, haven’t you, Miss Erso.”

“I’ve survived,” Jyn lamely excused with a shrug.

“Quite a sizable bounty on your head,” the Mexican almost seemed to acclaim.

“Over eighty dollars,” his companion estimated.

“Really,” Jyn sat up straighter; feigning interest. “A whole eighty dollars!”

Both nodded in unison.

“Well that’s something,” Jyn frowned. “Bet I could have been in the hundreds – had I been a man.” Jyn finished her drink and started to rise from the chair, “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve interrupted my latest attempt to go the straight and narrow. And I’m definitely not working with two men who are admitted liars and have already brought up the bounty on my head. Dead or alive, I think the poster reads…”

“Wait a moment –“

“Miss Erso,” Kay rose swiftly to his feet; towering over her in one stride. “I must insist you stay and listen to reason. The Black Beetle was very specific –“

Jyn actually snorted at the name. Of course Saw would choose something like that. Black Beetle; because ‘they hate my color and are fool enough not to fear me’.

“You can tell Saw he’s ruined my life twice now with his little schemes. And, whatever he’s promised, you both are morons to think he’d ever deliver. The only person Saw has ever taken care of is himself.”

The aftertaste of that comment was almost too bitter for Jyn to swallow – but she did so just the same; moving for the tavern’s door. Oddly enough, had she been remembering Saw’s teachings, the creak of the floorboards would have been a dead give away to Kay’s attack. She felt a shooting pain from the top of her head – vision slipping away into blurs and colors. Retreating only to darkness.

She could just make out an exasperated, “-Kay.”

And the rebuttal, “She wasn’t cooperating.”

After that, Jyn was lost to the world.

Darkness was always turbulence. It was the tunnel – but also the aftermath. For two days she’d camped out at the red rocks till he showed. She should have left after the first night in the desert – the struggle of starting a weak fire; of drinking from a filthy stream. Everything might have been better if Jyn Erso had packed up and headed for the first town she came across. Maybe she’d have been taken in by an honorable preacher and his steadfast wife; been raised to be a pillar of the community-

But Jyn had waited. Mama and papa’s final words whispering over and over again in her head.

Little Jyn had been forcing herself awake; fearful of every sound and flicker of motion, when a shadow horse and rider arrived at the red rocks. She stayed low by the side of the fire; using worn boots to kick sand over the pathetic embers she’d managed to ignite. With a jagged stone, Jyn had prepared to defend herself – but only heard a thick laugh as the shadow crouched to blow her fire back to life. A stern black face appeared opposite her and the now sparking flames – layers of sun damage and ripples of scars curled into an honest smile when he noticed the rock Jyn was clasping; ready to charge with.

“Brave girl, aren’t you,” he praised; sitting down and warming hands atop the fire. The raspy voice was familiar – something from before the prairie. Vague memories caused Jyn to drop her rock and regard him curiously. She had seen that smile before – back with mama and papa. Relieved tears started to leak down her face but her parents’ friend only hushed gently back at her,

“It’s alright, Little Star. You’re safe now.”

Safe. Even after the previous three days’ hell, an eight-year-old Jyn Erso had believed him. Body and soul. And continued to believe in Saw for years to come.

Jyn awoke on her side – the wind whipping sand against her face. Before opening her eyes, Jyn recognized she’d been transported outside. A quick assessment of her situation: hands and feet bound with rough rope. Now outside – and she couldn’t feel the sun but not cold enough for nighttime. Jyn tested the ropes but found they’d been tied skillfully. Not too tight to be cutting off circulation but they weren’t budging from their purpose. She opened one eye in a squint, looking for signs of her assailants. The lanky Brit was gone. But she could just make out the Mexican starting a fire across from her. When both eyes opened, Jyn assessed that she was in some type of ruin – three partial walls of adobe clay offering refuge. Purples and reds jogged along the sky. Night was settling in. And apparently Jyn would be camping out on the desert once again.

“You’re up,” Cassian observed mildly when Jyn had started working the knots on her hand ties – she jerked her head upward and grimaced at the man who seemed to be studying her closely.

Jyn continued to fumbled with the knots, “You were a ranch-hand once, weren’t you?” she called to him. Ranch laborer knew how to tie strong knots, thought Jyn sorely.

“In another life,” he answered; going back to his task by the fire.

“Untie me,” Jyn ordered; holding up her bound hands and wiggling them in his direction. “I’m useless for any plan this way!”

He looked conflicted; frown deepening his staunched face.

“- You’ve effectively captured me at this point,” continued Jyn wetting her lips. “I’m delirious from a head injury. And have no idea where we are. By all accounts: you win. Now untie me.”

Cassian locked eyes with her again before turning away, “Kay will be back soon –“

Jyn stopped being subtle; struggling openly and defiantly against the ropes; twisting them around until her wrists were blistered white. “This isn’t making me want to help you two, by the way,” she hissed in his direction. “In fact, it’s making me fairly certain I’m about to be turned over for eighty dollars. Eighty whole dollars -”

She was surprised when Cassian was suddenly standing over her; watching her with a perpetual frown in place, “We’re not bounty hunters and I’ve no intention of turning you over to them… I can promise you that. It’s just like we said earlier: we need the Black Beetle’s help. And he wants to be reunited with his long lost –“

Jyn snorted at how sappy and simple it all sounded; looking up and wondering if either of these men had ever worked with someone like Saw before; or could even comprehend what they’d be walking into.

“You’ve got to trust us,” Cassian entreated.

“Trust-,” Jyn mocked. “Trust is hard when you’re the one tied up.” Again she waved her hands in front of him; groaning at the rope that refused to snap at her will.

She flinched when she saw the knife under her nose; expecting Cassian’s next defense after this ‘trust’ fiasco would be an open-ended death threat – but he surprised her. The knife went to work sawing the rope around her hands into frays. When the dismantled rope fell to the ground, his hands ghosted across circles of white and red on her wrists before he reminded Jyn, “Trust.”

Cassian plunged his dagger into the sand at her feet and moved back to the fire; leaving Jyn more than a little unsettled in the aftermath. An unspoken agreement hung in the air: Trust would be repaid with trust. It was so naïve and unrealistic to anything she’d experienced in the West, it left her almost intrigued by the man who seemed to believe his own bluff. His back was turned – she could have easily lodged his own knife into it. Had she wanted to. But instead, Jyn worked on cutting through her feet bindings; ripping the rope apart as she snuck glances at the Mexican. Part of her still waiting for an attack. She rose gingerly to her feet, stretching slightly before her grip tightened on the knife’s handle. A horse neighed somewhere outside the ruined settlement. Jyn waited but when Kay did not emerge, Jyn realized she could slit Cassian’s throat and take the horse. Ride far away from this place – in any direction. If Kay had the nerve to follow, Jyn thought she could match him easily in fair combat – when her back wasn’t turned.

Despite this, she lowered the blade. Hunched over, Jyn dragged up her – now soiled- skirts to place the knife firmly within her boot. When her eyes rose again, Cassian was watching intently – but made no comment about getting his knife back. In a flourish, she dropped the skirts and decided he’d never get it back. Even if he dared to ask.

“Why is she free?” Kay stood at the ruin’s entrance; looking to be choking on air as he pointed straight at her.

“Jyn,” Cassian diplomatically observed. “- is not our enemy.”

“So I have to worry about getting my throat slit tonight because you believe she’s not our enemy.”

“Says the one who attacked me,” spat Jyn as she moved closer to the fire.

“Ah – Cassian!”

“Kay.”

Kay pumped up his chest; crossing arms around himself before issuing, “Fine. Sorry for hitting you over the head. It was not part of our plan. Necessary, in my opinion. But not our plan.”

“Good,” said Cassian with a weak smirk. “And I think Jyn can agree not to kill either of us in our sleep – “

“You’re not the one I want dead,” Jyn issued plainly in Kay’s direction. Visions of the man in the white hat coming to mind instead. “-So I’d sleep fine, if I was you.”

“That’s hardly a calming sentiment, Cassian,” billowed Kay. “You cannot be serious – I am not comfortable with this development.”

“We are sticking with our original plan, Kay. We befriend Jyn Erso and ask for her assistance-”

“Which neither of you have, actually,” interrupted Jyn. “I haven’t been ‘asked’ so much as ‘told’ that this was happening!”

“Very well,” lamented Kay. “Jyn Erso, would you like to assist us in saving Santa Fe?”

“Never heard of it,” Jyn fired back amused.

“Now you’re just being difficult,” Kay turned back to Cassian. “See! She’s not willing to help us unrestrained –“

Jyn cleared her throat, “Usually this is where one of you presents me with the backstory. Where is Santa Fe? Glorify the salt of the earth folk who live there. Set up who we’re going up against…?”

“Santa Fe is one of the oldest settlements in New Mexico,” Cassian explained. “Starting with the Pueblo people, the Spanish- and, after a new treaty with the USA, now white settlers. But very poor – when it was a Spanish territory, the town received aide and resources shipped in constantly. Now, Santa Fe exists in a political loop-hole…”

Kay continued, “It’s a US territory now but not a state.”

“And the distinction,” asked Jyn.

“Everything,” Cassian spat bitterly. “America realized too late that they were only gaining land. Santa Fe has very little to offer. Not much grows in the valley. Virtually no advantageous resources. So America lost interest instantaneously. No trade, no aide, no law enforcement. And then the bandits and cutthroats took full advantage of the situation. They own the town. Children are going missing in the night – and anyone who stands up to them is either killed or run out of town.”

Kay pointed to himself and Cassian, “They put a price on our heads – me, a surveyor for her Majesty’s government! Run out of town like a common thief just for acknowledging there might be a problem with the situation.”

Cassian’s eyes burned into her, “They don’t have ‘wanted posters’ up in Santa Fe. Just pages and pages of missing loved ones tacked on a fence post.”

Jyn attempted to look passive, “And what did Saw promise you both?”

“That he would help us rid the swine from Santa Fe,” Cassian exclaimed passionately.

“I believe his exact words were, ‘butcher them alive’,” Kay said.

Jyn raised her eyebrows at the idea; schooling her face as she thought over their offer. It would have been too easy to steal a horse in the night and never pay another thought to Santa Fe – or Cassian and Kay again. But she thought of a fence post covered with the names of missing loved ones; images of her parents faces flashed through her head – dimming with age but never leaving her. And she thought of herself; a child who’s world changed overnight.

“Alright,” she replied easily – to the bewilderment of both men. “Let’s get them!”

Cassian voiced both their question, “Why? – why so simple –“

“Shouldn’t the ranch-hand know the saying, ‘never look a gift-horse in the mouth’?,” teased Jyn idly; eyeing sizzling sausages in a frying pan savagely.

Cassian shrugged, “Traducido al espanol,” he asked Kay.

“I don’t know,” Kay quipped. “It’s pretty Anglo-“

“It’s alright… think I have a general idea about a meaning,” said Cassian.

In her move to squat by the fire, helping herself to a cooked sausage, Jyn didn’t miss the glance shared between the men. Or that Kay mouthed to Cassian a single word; a question: ‘Ranch-hand’- that the latter simply shook his head at. Clearly she’d underestimated the self-admitted ‘exceptional liar’. She kept her eyes trained on Cassian for the rest of the evening; trying to unearth what he was really after. Trust, she scoffed. ‘Trust for trust’ was a different sort of promise coming from a naïve ranch-hand with dreams of glory and heroics. It was something else from a man who all too readily wanted her to believe that was all he was.

Trust could never be that simple, and Jyn was ready to prove that fact.


	3. Bonds

They didn’t trust her. Not really. Even Cassian, with his claim that ‘trust begot trust’, studied her movements with deliberate skepticism from the moment she greeted ‘— _morning_ ’ to the duo. Which showed solid judgment on their part, but also left Jyn flustered; watching the pair hunched over one of Kay’s many maps on the far side of camp and muttering almost silently between themselves. The two men appeared to be natural allies. Reading the other’s intent from small gestures: a slight lift in the forehead or the wrinkling of a nose. Jyn seized the opportunity to knock their measured partnership off balance a smidge.

“Planning the trail,” Jyn provoked from across camp – earning only vague nods in return. Neither male taking time away from their plans to vocalize a reply. Jyn unhurriedly swayed closer; attempting to get a look at the map. The men demonstrated enough awareness of her position to drape arms across the paper; blocking all but the long squiggle of a river from view. 

“Don’t trouble yourselves,” said Jyn as she walked back to her isolation at the far side of the adobe ruin. “- much too humdrum to capture my interests! And the majority of the maps of these parts prove pathetically defective. Don’t know why surveyors even try –“ 

Jyn smiled when Kay visibly tensed at her words. Kay delayed his discussion with Cassian in order to tersely inform her, “I’ll have you know that surveyors are doing the most noble work in the American West. We are charting impenetrable landscapes; walking a shrouded horizon where no one else has yet meander –“

“Except those who’ve been living here for hundreds of years,” Jyn jabbed.

Kay was quick to reply, “The Indians, you mean? The Native groups have been admirably helpful towards the entire process.” 

She searched out Cassian’s gaze now; smirking as she mused, “How tremendously kind. If you can trust a word they say, that is. For me, if a bunch of strange folk were attempting to ‘ _settle_ ’ my homeland, I would not be as forthcoming. I’d be supplying misinformation from day one—”  
  
“Charming,” sneered Kay; bored with her already and rotating back to his map and Cassian. “Luckily, the Natives realized the potential for setting up trading posts would prove mutually beneficial for all parties.”

Likewise turning away, Jyn felt the skin prickling on the back of her neck – she refused to look over her shoulder; tracing her fingers across the ruin’s walls. Long strokes against the smooth surface that had eroded from blasts of wind, pelts of rain, and years of negligence. Then, one section of the wall dipped inward. Jyn scrapped the dirt away; feeling the coarse sand lodge beneath her fingernails – something had been etched into the wall. Jagged lines and geographic patterns scripted across the section before the surface faded into the cool smooth again— 

Unfortunately for the men, they’d left their packs on her side of camp. Jyn crept closer; nudging open the first one and glancing back to the map summit. When they failed to notice, Jyn reached inside the first bag; moving aside extra clothing and exquisite bronze instruments. An old heirloom scope at the bottom—with a compact leather journal! Jyn almost squealed with delight at the thought of reading either’s innermost secrets. But the journal contained only stiff notes on coordinates with bleak observations of the territories’ manic weather patterns. 

At least one of their backstories checked out, Jyn acknowledged. Kay was a surveyor. Or had been, at some point. The most interesting find in Kay’s pack was a photograph stashed in the journal as a makeshift bookmark. No earmarks or awkward creases – just a crisply regal woman sitting tall and proud; no smile in sight. Jyn wouldn’t have been surprised if this woman sat stiffly in pose long after the photograph was exposed and development; posing more natural than anything else.

But she had to be someone to Kay. Wife: that seemed unlikely! A doting mother, perhaps? Or a spinster aunt whose sullen disposition was mirrored in her nephew? 

But it showed a bond existed for the man. He’d had a life (and probably a comfortable one) before he came to the American West.

The other pack was sparse – almost meticulously so! No one packed this light. Except maybe Jyn herself. The commonality between her own meager belongings and Cassian’s made her even more suspicious about him. Jyn felt for her mama’s cross around her throat and reminded herself she’d had bonds. Even long forfeited bonds had to mean something by comparison. 

Any theories she could construct about Cassian were thrown to the wayside when she looked through his bag. An old but reliable pistol – which Jyn artfully set to the side for herself. But no tokens of any stolen children he was searching for in the desert. No photograph of a dutiful wife awaiting his swift return to their homestead – not even a shady aunt who passed on her practices to her nephew. No letters from an old fishing partner. There was absolutely nothing personal. And how did anyone not have _SOMETHING_ personal on them? Something that grounded them as ‘human’?

Jyn’s eyes darted to watch the Mexican again; seemingly debating something with Kay. Cassian (if it even was his name) remained an enigma. 

Seeing as neither offered her supplies for the campaign to Santa Fe, Jyn decided to help herself. Rustling through their belongings recklessly; unafraid of drawing their attention now. She flung pants and shirts to the side; sizing up her options. Kay’s spare trousers were in better shape than Cassian’s – but much longer. Jyn settled for the worn pair instead. They were a dark brown color: easier to conceal dirt and blood. The lightest weight shirt she could locate followed. Jyn did allow a moment of frivolity by adding a fancy vest of Kay’s onto her growing pile; fond of the green shine present when the dark vest moved in the sunlight. The fact she was fairly certain Kay wouldn’t appreciate the theft of such hoity-toity clothing only added to Jyn’s delight as she grabbed the pile and rose to her feet; pausing to pocket a faded blue bandanna as she went. 

She stooped behind the ruined walls and quickly unbuttoned and shrugged out of her top; flinging the garment over the wall before working on her mass of skirts. The jacket landing over the wall seemed to draw the men’s attention. Jyn heard Kay gasp, “Just what do you think you’re doing! ( _She’s gone through our things, Cassian!_ ) Come out this moment, and –“ 

Jyn rose up on her toes; allowing only her head and neck to be visible over the wall:

“You didn’t think I’d be riding into hostile territory dressed like that, did you? Especially after you’ve informed me of hoop skirts’ many dangers, Kay? Consider this the payment for abducting me,” Jyn told them. “Had I been given proper notice, I could have retrieved my gear—or liberated someone’s wash-line myself.”

“Come out here right now,” ordered Kay. 

Jyn rolled the hoop skirt to the ground and hung the monstrosity over the wall, “I am now _indisposed_ ,” she retorted. Shoving off the petticoats, she kicked them across the sand and rustled with her newly acquired trousers in the wind.

“Which horse do I get,” Jyn called out from behind the wall.

Cassian replied, “We’ve only the two.” 

“You can ride behind me,” Kay informed her. “That way we know you won’t bolt at the first opportunity.”

Jyn groaned with disappointment; unwilling to temper her response if these men continued to treat her like a uncooperative captive, “I’ll ride my own horse. The two of you share—“

A rising tunnel of dust approached the campsite. Jyn lowered in an instant; fastening the worn breeches and tucking her newly acquired firearm into the waistband. She fumbled to put on the shirt; buttoning as a low whistle sounded from the other side of the wall.

“My, my – oh my! Did not expect to find you two so easily,” a newcomer hollered. “My lucky day… sorry to interrupt the honeymoon—“

Kay sighed heavily, “Humorous, I’m sure!” 

“Pretty skirt,” the stranger continued to taunt. “Which of you gets to wear it—“ 

Jyn crawled towards the side; peering around the wall to access the current situation. One foe: a gruff gent with a wide-brim hat and a large wad of chewing tobacco rounding out his greasy cheek. Already off his horse with a gun pointed towards her two would-be travel companions. Both of whom already had their arms raised in surrender: a wonderfully start for her partnership with them both! Far too easy to relent—and their weapons were still sprawled across the ruin.

The foe whipped his gun towards the open desert; directing both men out of the structure. And they readily followed; receiving shovels from the back of the stranger’s horse and ordered simply, “ _DIG_.”

Not a clever foe, Jyn recognized. Too fixated on watching the men set on their task of digging to question why they had a woman’s skirt thrown over the wall. The man had not paused to even consider the idea of a third party… too eager to sip a bottle of liquor and mock the men as they dug one narrow grave.

“Must be reassuring to know you’ll be buried together forever,” the man hissed through gulps of alcohol. Spitting out the drink as he laughed at the idea.

Jyn crouched lower; waiting for an advantage to present itself.  
  
Yet again, the opportunity to run was tempting. If the choice was fight or flight, Jyn rationalized that she’d been fighting too long by this point. Her current predicament broke down into two option. Either turn of her body a different outcome.

To her left, Jyn hid behind the foe—watching two men preparing for death. Despite the circumstances, Jyn couldn’t bring herself to hate either man. Her hate was too fixed on one target to divvy out any surplus hatred to any little bouts of annoyance she came across. To her right, if Jyn just crawled, she could reach Cassian and Kay’s horses. Steal one and ride off. 

Her decision was made when the enemy brought out a large shotgun from his saddle and wacked both Kay and Cassian’s skulls as he proclaimed, “Won’t be no need for clean shots with you two.” 

They did not trust her. Jyn did not trust them—but she’d witnessed the mutated corpses of sorry sods who met their end by someone else’s shotgun. Ragged heaps of flesh and blood. Unrecognizable to their nearest and dearest. Faces, barely faces after a shotgun blast. 

Somehow, Jyn had managed to hold onto just enough morality in herself to realize neither of these men deserved that fate. With the choice made, her fate was sealed.

She dragged her legs firmly to the left; slowly rising to confront the drunk waving his shotgun around in the air.  
  
The foe wasn’t as inapt as Jyn had planned for. The slight shuffle of sand as she moved forward, and his gun was tracking her. The man questioned bluntly, “Are you a whore?”  
  
Because young, female, and not pox-scarred in the territories seemed to always inspire the same inquest: _Are you a whore_? Jyn fought back a defensive grimace; her hands forming fists before raising conquered into the air. Laying into her accent to sound polished, Jyn replied, “No. I am Eleanor Wilcox. A schoolmistress from—“ 

“AH—a fancy teacher-lady,” he interrupted with a leer. “What’s a fancy teacher-lady doing all the way out here?”  
  
Squaring her shoulders for a fight, Jyn almost missed the bronze badge flopping around the man’s protruding middle. An all-seeing eagle perched atop a star. Jyn smiled sweetly at the Federal Marshal, “I’m so fortunate to come across a lawman! These men kidnapped me off my train heading back East. I’d only just received word of my grandmother’s passing—“ 

He stepped closer; blowing toxic fumes of homebrewed liquor in Jyn’s face, “Now that’s too bad, little missy!” 

Jyn couldn’t resist taking one-step back as the man infringed on her space, “I’m so glad to see these two arrested. Will you be taking them to the nearest town for questioning? Must I stay on for the trial?” 

Jyn studied the man as he wiped a gritty layer of sweat off his brow. He glanced backward to the men (now pausing in their digging and trying to surmise what Jyn was up to). The foe spit out a glob of chewing tobacco before assuring Jyn, “Ain’t no need for a trial. A real time waster to drag them two in for nuthin’.” 

Jyn pressed innocently, “But are we not trying to civilize the West? What manner of civilization does not include a proper justice system?” Over the broad shoulders of their foe, Jyn witnessed Kay and Cassian gesturing something to her—attempts to include her in their scheme for the first time. Still, Kay waving his hat to the left and Cassian jumping up and down meant nothing to her. But, at the very least, they all seemed to be in agreement to assist in dispatching the Federal Marshal. At least they knew Jyn was with them in this.

The failure to decipher these gestures caused Jyn to miscalculate the opponent. Too quick for his size, within seconds he was pressing against Jyn; grabbing her by the shoulders and suggesting, “How ‘bout I finish them off? Than you and I head over yonder, and you can show me some gratitude?”

Jyn had used up her calm. Had long passed a time where any old man could grab her with an inkling he could get away with it.

“Actually, that sounds pretty revolting to me,” Jyn said in her own voice; jumping backward as she fished out her new firearm. With a survivor’s ease, Jyn aimed and pulled the trigger (planning to give the foe a quick death right between the eyes). The gun stalled. Hammer clicking but no charge of release from the barrel. She gripped the trigger again: still stalled!  
  
Jyn and her opponent stared at each other dumbfounded; glancing down at the gun and than back at each other again. When he moved to grab her, Jyn whipped the butt of the gun into his jaw—knocking the Federal Marshal backward but not stopping him for long. 

“You took that from my pack,” she heard a surprised Cassian realize aloud—closer now; the wind hissing through her lungs as the Marshal threw her to the ground. Jyn rolled; trying to pin him—ducking when Kay towered over the wrestling match, swinging a shovel at the man.  
  
“Get out of the way,” Kay retracted his blow; angling away from Jyn and hitting nothing but air as a result.

Jyn panted, “I’m trying!” But the Marshall knocked her over again—his shotgun rolling backward in the sand as they all scrambled for the discarded weapon. 

Jyn cursed under her breath when the gun rose in front of her eyes; tan hands gripping the gun and pointing it over her shoulder. Jyn crouched as Cassian fired two rapid shots—the Marshal crying out in anguish as each kneecap was pierced.

Out of a haze of smoke, Cassian emerged to tell the man, “Had planned an easier death for you, but you left us no choice.” 

The man standing over Jyn, directing the shotgun now at the Federal Marshal’s chest, could never be confused for a naïve ranch-hand. There was a chill in the air as the Mexican’s mouth morphed into a slender scowl. Flashing eyes taking in the wounded body sobbing on the ground. All humanity seemed to dissolve into a calm and collected bearer of death. So bewildered by this development, Jyn missed the orders Cassian had issued to Kay—broken from the trance only when Cassian directed down to her, “Jyn, bring over the saddle bag.”

Kay was leaning over the shallow grave; dusting off a firearm—so they had been armed the hole! Just bidding their time. With shaking legs, Jyn righted herself; crossing to unbelt the saddle bag and deposited the contents in the sand at Cassian’s feet. Gun in hand, Kay helped Jyn sort the supplies as Cassian remained locked and loaded; ready to shot if the Marshal so much as flinched too violently in the group’s direction. 

“Looks as though we all have warrants out now,” Kay grimaced; holding up two sheets of paper with rough etchings of a foppish Brit in a bowler hat and monocle, then of a menacing Mexican with a thicker beard than its namesake boasted presently and jagged teeth. The artist had failed to capture either of them. At least Jyn’s Wanted poster had a decent drawing—plus, she almost looked pretty on the poster. In a wild sort of way. In a way that would make the average bystander stop and ponder her body count.

Jyn looked over Kay’s shoulder; smug to say, “They’re not official—not issued by the government. I’m still worth more—“

“Good for you,” answered Cassian without looking down at the papers. The interrogation of the Federal Marshal began with, “Why would a private company be sending out warrants on us? We left town, as directed—” 

The Marshal coughed into the sand, “Fuck you!”

Cassian enticed, “I can end the pain, Harold. All you have to do is help us—“ 

“I said: fuck you, _amigo_!” 

“That term must not mean what you think it means in Spanish,” schooled Kay as he opened up a wallet next; pocketing the stacks of paper dollars and raising an eyebrow to dare Jyn into questioning petty thieving in this situation. She hadn’t planned to. “Also, it is bad manners to use such vulgarity in front of a lady—“

“She ain’t no lady… just a whore,” he was laughing now; an ugly, bobbing mock from a dying man. Though, perhaps, not dying enough. Not yet fearful enough of any manner of afterlife to comply.

“Might want to watch yourself,” cautioned Cassian as he breathed against the shotgun; calming breaths as he readied to finish the job.

Both seemed mighty bothered by the use of ‘ _whore_ ’. Much more than Jyn herself could feign. It was old news now, that term being flung around as a sorry attempt to use her gender against her. No longer rising at the bait, Jyn pondered aloud, “Is there any kind of woman who falls between a lady and a whore in your estimations? Because if something does exist there, I choose that descriptor for myself.”

Kay thumbed through a stack of paper notes, “Someone’s received a substantial amount of railroad shares. What? Got a special tip—“

“Or is someone paying you off with shares,” finished Cassian; his eyes slipping down to take in the paperwork before lifting back up to survey the Marshal through the viewfinder.

Kay passed the shares over to Jyn as he toiled through the remaining supplies. Jyn read aloud, “ _American_ _Empire Railroad Company: connecting the West through new territories and new_ trade _… certified that H.L. Britten owns with this document ten shares of the A. Empire Railroad Company_ —“ Counting the stack of paper in her hand, Jyn dryly informed Mr. Britten, “Someone’s been cooking the books. Unless you are the majority shareholder, I think someone’s been a bit dishonest with your payment plan. For example: owning three hundred percent of a company is impossible. Probably should have risen some concerns when they offered—“ 

“I don’t need no teacher-lady-prostitute telling me how to count—“

Cassian interrupted, “Harold, you’re not leaving this conversation alive. You’ve realized that, correct? There is no future; no tomorrow for you. No other way to get payback from the person who cheated you… besides cooperating with us. Who gave you the shares?” 

Harold spat a wad of tobacco at Cassian’s boots, “Krennic’s a lot of things. Maybe a cheat too, but I’ll not be crossing him—not even going to my grave.”

Standing up, Jyn turned to Cassian and suggested, “Shot him in the stomach!” 

Cassian scrunched his face in surprise; ignoring her gaze as Kay acknowledged, “We don’t want him bleeding out… yet.”

“He won’t. Ever been shot in the stomach? Hurts like you’re being raked over coals,” Jyn could almost feel the tingling in her abdomen as she remembered the wound. If it had festered, she’d have died of infection after days of torment. “We need information that you seem to think he carries. If you aim for his ribs, you’ll not rupture anything all-too important. If you do, it will be a slow death; agonizing and Harold here will just become more and more delirious. Maybe more pliable, come to think of it—“

Harold stammered, “Mr. Krennic got word that you two left Santa Fe making some outrageous claims about bringing in the Calvary—“ 

“I told you to be quiet, Kay,” mumbled Cassian against the firearm’s barrel. 

“I might have told a _handful_ of people we’d be returning to save the day,” admitted Kay unfazed; setting down a handful of documents to steady a pistol at Harold’s head. 

“—I was told to make ya missing, and make sure your bodies stayed lost.” 

Jyn observed with a scowl, “Why would a Federal Marshal be a lackey for a railroad man? Was the sham payout so very appealing?”

Harold shrugged awkwardly as he scooted into a ball; bending his kneecaps to inspect the irreparable damage. “Suppose ‘cause them in Washington weren’t giving me no orders. No one was govern’, so Mr. Krennic and his folk took over. I sort a followed their sham govern’. Money didn’t hurt none—“

Kay prompted, “So Mr. Krennic wants us gone for good? Would you happen to have any answers to our growing questions? What is Krennic’s goal? His scheme? Where have the missing children being held? Are they involved in whatever Krennic has planned? For all this talk of railroads, I’ve not seen tracks! Or a train—or workers!”

Harold laughed as he tossed around in pain, “They’re working of course!”

Jyn whispered to Kay, “Best not overload this one with too many questions—“ at the Marshal, she voiced confidently, “Who is Krennic? Why did he take children from their families?”

“Already told you,” spat the man in frustration. “They’re workn’!”

“Laying the tracks,” asked Cassian quickly; searching the man’s face for a more detailed answer.

Kay told the group, “Child labor is forbidden on Federal projects as of 186—“

“Ain’t no Federal project,” Harold taunted the group. “Snot’ Federal land, English man! That land belongs to the American Empire Railroad Company. No one wanted it, so they took it all. Doubt nobody’ll be asking for that wasteland back—” 

“Clever,” Jyn voiced with a grimace. “Use ‘ _American_ ’ in the title. Adds credibility. Suggests government involvement…” Both Cassian and Kay fixed one eye on her in disgust; forcing Jyn to rebuff, “I’m just admiring a crafty plot! Not supporting the enslavement of children or whatever else this Krennic person is part of.”

“You’re all going to die,” mocked Harold in a singsong voice. He smiled up a Jyn; making her stomach turn at the look of delight mixed with approaching death on his face. Serenity with his impending fate had Harold’s whiskers tickling his cheeks, “One by one, you’ll all die. Me today, but her tomorrow—“ he pointed directly at Jyn here. “Then him—“ Kay looked unnerved by the finger jetting towards him. “Then you—“ he leaned back to stare right up at Cassian. “Death will find us all in the end. I guarantee, mine’s going to be nothing compared to the rest of you!” 

Jyn heard the gunshot; felt the kickback from her side—but was still startled when blood oozed from a small hole in Harold’s forehead. Kay kept his pistol up and aimed as the smoke billowed back into his pale face. Harold ended up with the clean death Jyn had attempted, that Cassian had planned for, but Kay carried it out—and Jyn was almost peeved by that; that after Harold bragged just seconds ago about his easy exit from this world, he got just that. Jyn might have been concerned if she carried any stock in the weight of prophecies. Prophecies weren’t real, though. All that was, those words were, were the desperate echoes of a now dead man. Jyn chose not to dwell on such nonsense. 

“He told us all he knew,” Kay explained his actions to the group; finally lowering his arm to study their expressions. “Harold was, at best, a glorified errand boy! Krennic was behind this—as we already knew—“ 

“I didn’t know,” Jyn scolded the pair. “I’ve been told relatively nothing except I’m needed to rid a town of swine, and children are missing. So this Krennic character is behind all this—and this isn’t new information for anyone but me?” 

Cassian lowered the shotgun finally; resting it against the ruins as he rummaged through Harold’s pockets. “The arrival of Krennic did seem to escalate the problems in Santa Fe, yes.”

Jyn dropped next to him; shifting through pockets and wrinkling her nose at the smell, “Old Harold must have been in a constant state of inebriation!”

She almost missed Cassian’s swift fingers unhinging the Federal Marshal badge, hiding the shield in the palm of his hand as he moved for the back pocket of his pants.

“A trophy?” Jyn asked; wanted to make sure to demonstrate his actions had not gone unobserved. 

Cassian waved a hand through the air dismissively, the badge now deep in his pockets. He wet his lips and replied, “A reminder. For a little boy who wanted to be a lawman.”

An opportunity to retrieve personal information from Cassian Andor arrived—Jyn could almost taste her questions on the tip of her tongue about this little boy. Who was he? What happened? —but she stopped. She’d had her fill of heartache. The fate of the little boy who’d wanted to be a lawman was not a happy one—it couldn’t be. Knowing the little boy’s fate or his relation to Cassian would not erase the grief that weighed upon the man as he, Jyn, and Kay carried the body of Harold into the shallow grave. 

Maybe Cassian Andor had once had bonds. Nothing else made a person look as haunted as Jyn usually felt; nothing but knowing what life had been and living everyday in the aftermath. Hell on Earth was living in the aftermath of lost bonds.

Kay broke the silence as they shoveled sand over Harold’s corpse, “How many years for killing a Federal Marshal in America? Even a corrupt one?” 

“Years?” Jyn couldn’t help but smirk. “Not years. Just one quick jump off the scaffold—ideally, your neck will break so you don’t just hang there waiting—”

“You’re a little ghoul, you know that,” Kay hissed back; pausing to mop his brow.

Cassian encouraged the group, “They’d have to find Harold first. Before the coyotes do.”

“We’re in this together now,” Jyn told the group; she rested on the shovel before kicking a pile of sand into the grave. “I’d greatly appreciate any information that might arise that would better inform me just what I’m taking part of, but I am part of this. Understood?” 

Cassian nodded agreement; watching her through his matted bangs, “Reunite you with Saw. With Saw’s help, take back Santa Fe from the gunslingers hired by Krennic. Find the missing children, establish some type of protection for the town—“

“Clearly, we are as informed as you, or we’d elaborate,” Kay noted with concern. “But that is our general plan: save the day, and make sure it stays that way. Think you can trust us as we go?”

Shoveling another load of sand into the grave, Jyn replied, “I’m willing to try.”


	4. Anselwood, Texas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really try to not get political when it comes to fanfiction. Maybe that’s an irresponsible mindset, but I really feel that fanfiction is an escapism for myself and others; and should function as just an entertainment outlet. However, I’ve sat-on this chapter for hours and a day, uncomfortable updating anything starting with ‘target practice’ after so many lives have been stolen in Las Vegas because of gun violence. And I cannot shake this feeling that someone might be upset by a young Jyn learning to shoot after recent current events. Which is completely understandable!
> 
> In no way is this fanfic meant to glorify guns or violence. I am only writing this to be a hokey-Western AU. But, since I hesitated so much before uploading, I feel it’s only fair to give anyone reading this a warning. If escapism for you doesn’t involve guns (again: very valid in our world right now!), please: take care of yourself and ignore this chapter; maybe ignore this fic and find something better to read. The world is a pretty upsetting place right now. Sending out good vibes to everyone: please, take care of yourselves! - Lilred

 

 

“Line up your shot,” coached Saw behind her; adjusting the aim of Jyn’s barrel with his forefinger slightly to the right.

His voice was stern. The voice of a harsh man who’d led an even harsher life. Gruff and temperamental— but never with Jyn. The young Erso was the rare exception Saw was willing to make with his unpracticed tenderness. Becoming little Jyn’s sole guardian overnight, Saw attempted to become everything all at once: a father, a protector, a friend, and (more importantly) Jyn’s instructor in warfare.    
  
Saw broke his serious glower to ruffle Jyn’s already knotted hair. An attempt to be lighthearted and playful by a man never exposed to such normalcy. But he tried. For Jyn he tried.  
  
Living out in the desert, Saw didn’t press for hairbrushing or personal hygiene. And Jyn was too young to bother with either. Cleanliness seemed too controlled. Too normal. Remnants from a life where she went to bed warm with a full belly. Weeks passed, and Jyn knew her appearance matched her heart: ferial. Leaving Jyn a small ragdoll caked in sand and dirt. Now pointing a loaded firearm at a railing of junk, but still very much a child. A child thinking this training more an odd sort of game than the inheritance of violence she’d been condemned to embrace for the rest of her life.  
  
All Saw required was for Jyn to learn what he could teach her: how to fight. How to win.  
  
Carefully, Saw replaced the oversized hat atop Jyn’s head; craning his neck to redirect towards target practice again.  
  
“I can’t see,” groaned the small child. She guided her finger to the trigger, eyed each can and bottle in the makeshift shooting gallery, but the sunlight was too fierce; leaving Jyn blinking disorientated. She tilted her head forward so the brim offered minimal shade.  
  
Saw encouraged, “Smart. Always use what you’ve got to your advantage. If a band of outlaws are charging, you can’t ask them to move slightly to the left — ”  
  
“Well, I know that,” her childish voice had cracked. Sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, Jyn aimed and fired at a green bottle; expecting to send it shattering in the air like Saw had demonstrated. Jyn’s bullet grazed the side of the bottle, but it didn’t shatter. Didn’t even fall off the rocky ridge.  
  
“You’ve weighed them down,” accused Jyn with a huff; grabbing a rock and throwing it towards the targets. Not one can or bottle turned over at the contract. “You’re cheating!”  
  
Saw looked down at her; cool and collected as the young girl threw a temper tantrum, “And who told you I wouldn’t, Little Star? Who told you this was gonna be fair?”  
  
He allowed Jyn her moment of fury; flinging fistsfulls of rocks and mud at the targets. The corners of his mouth lifting with growing fondness for his charge.  
  
“ _—_ _Life doesn’t owe you a thing, Jyn Erso. Best you learn that early on._ ”

* * *

  
Anselwood, Texas: a town run by outlaws. The town consisted of five rough-board structures and a mile-long dirt path the locals refer to as  ‘ _Main Street_ ’. Anselwood would never appear on official maps, because the town did not officially exist. Just another loophole of the United States’ government. The land had been promised to the Apache in a short-lived peace treaty. When the fighting started up again (and who seriously thought the peace would last when Americans had their eyes on everything West straight to the ocean?); the lawless swooped in to set up shop. Unchallenged by the local tribes or American Cavalry who had their attentions otherwise engaged.  
  
Only a criminal with no moral fiber knew where to locate the town that did not exist. And the only reason a criminal sought out Anselwood was to start a new enterprise; to find work.  
  
Jyn didn’t even bat an eye as she entered the saloon alone; navigating through a room packed with smelly men before hammering her hand flush against the bar.  
  
“Whatever will get me drunkest fastest,” she called out to the one man running the place. Ignoring how the majority of the clientele were simply reaching over the bar to help themselves.  
  
The barkeep seemed refreshingly surprised that he’d been asked to work tonight. He poured something into a dusty glass: thinly gold liquor obviously watered down. But Jyn did not turn the drink away _—_ every false display helped. She’d publically announced the intention to get drunk, and would instead be sipping a diluted concoction all night. Everyone wins, including the sheepish barkeep waiting for Jyn to call his bluff. But she accepted the drink with a wink.  
  
Jyn turned with drink in hand; boredly surveying the saloon as she rested her elbows on the bar. She was less than impressed with the crowd of angry drunks present; aggrandizing to argue with each other over every perceived slight. Someone elbows someone’s uncle as they passed: nothing was too small to not set these men off. Still, no large brawls as of yet. Must be a slow night for this saloon!  
  
A pathetic lot, really. Not the studied-scheming bandits Jyn had grown to admire in small doses.  
  
Tonight’s goal was to make an impression; to grab attention the moment she entered the building. Thus far, the only male who’d made note of her was Cassian. He’d entered the saloon half-an-hour earlier, and was already stationed under his apparent favorite guise: the witless drunk.  
  
To the casual observer, he was sleeping it off in the corner; lame and useless to the world at large, instead of Jyn’s vigilant backup.  
  
Jyn rolled her eyes in his direction when brown eyes crept open and darted around the saloon. Starting and ending on her. Cassian was a slippery customer. Very skilled at being unseen. Smart. Possibly very smart. Smart and handsome was a very dangerous combination, thought Jyn as she sipped her slimey drink.  
  
“I’m looking for some action,” Jyn turned to whoever stood to her left. “Hear some might be looking for talent in these parts. And I’ve got a special talent of reigning-in chaos!”  
  
Beady blue eyes looked her up and down before the man belched, slipping into a drunken hunch over the countertop. Little help there!

“Looking for work,” Jyn tried now to her right. “I’ve got a wicked shot. Was trained by the Black Beetle himself.”  
  
“Never heard of him,” the older man replied; inspecting Jyn as he pawed through his white beard. “But I might have some work for you. An adventure of sorts. Any experience with treasure hunts?”

Jyn’s eyes narrowed, “Treasure hunts?”

He stood straighter; light eyes alert _—_ far more alert than other men his age. “Precisely. It is a long, turbulent tale. Decades ago, a former associate of mine passed away under… _mysterious_ circumstances. A man, who was like a brother to me, disappeared without a trace. His son, now grown, has inherited a treasure map hidden amongst his father’s belongings. We believe the map will lead to answers about my friend’s untimely death. And a significant amount of gold somewhere near the Mexican border. Naturally, all treasure will be distributed fairly amongst our group. Luke and I are much more concerned with solving this mystery. To finally have answers _—_ ”  
  
“Uh-huh,” replied Jyn already looking over her shoulder for a new target. Treasure hunts never went well. And there was no way she’d play along… they were more likely to end up dead in the desert than return home with gold and answers! It was a stupid scheme, and definitely not one of Saw’s current ventures.

“I’m assembling a group to go,” continued the old man. “A small group. I need a gunslinger, if you’re interested.” He paused to callout for his companion in the distance, “—Luke!”

Jyn backed away; unwilling to be roped into a wild goose chase with vague mentions of ‘ _gold_ ’. They were here to find someone who worked for Saw; someone who could take them to wherever the Black Beetle was hiding out. Jyn already had a scheme: saving children, if that could be believed. An act of heroism for once.  
  
Needing to go missing fast (before the old man got Luke’s attention), Jyn stumbled towards Cassian’s far-off table. Taking a seat before he could tell her not to.  
  
In a sing-song voice, Jyn lamented to the man, “Oh, where _—_  Oh, where: have the good criminals all gone! These bandits are just a bunch of thugs. No skills, no charms. I’m only impressed that they all manage to drink and breathe at the same time.”  
  
Cassian quietly reminded her, “I’m sorry, I think you’re confusing me for someone else. Someone you seem to know. Not a random stranger. Minding his own business.”  
  
Jyn promptly ignored him and kept talking, “When I was learning how to be a criminal, there was an art to deceit. It took talent to craft illegal schemes. Now any arse with a rifle considers himself tough-shit, and rides into Anselwood to drink, fuck, and pass out: it’s insulting to those of us who took lawlessness seriously!”  
  
“I am sorry we’ve not made contact with Saw’s outlaws yet. Sorry the present company are well below your standards of lawlessness. Now: go back to the bar and ask around _—_ ”

“I’m bored,” complained Jyn hotly. “Will you talk with me?”

Cassian sighed deeply, “Already am, _Jyn_.”

“Will you dance with me?” Jyn waved a hand towards the player-piano in a corner. That could be a lark! Something women at a age with her do all the time for fun, and maybe think nothing of it. Cassian was also young, despite his lined face. Jyn couldn’t imagine he’d found much opportunity to dance either—  
  
“Absolutely not,” replied Cassian pretending to be sleeping again.  
  
When a whore approached, Cassian sank lower in his chair. Like his good looks would go unnoticed if he slid far enough away. Jyn grinned; sitting back comfortably as she watched the small sample of amusement offered.

“How’s about a tumble upstairs?” The whore kicked Cassian’s boot to get attention. “I’ve mastered the old ‘ _trago largo_ ’ for you _majados_ .”  
  
Cassian tilted his head backward; releasing a deep and insufferable snore that continued until the whore moved to the next table.  
  
“She was just working,” noted Jyn; helping herself to Cassian’s drink _—_  the same watered-down pond scum as her own, unfortunately. Curiosity got the better of her, “What does ‘tago la rago’ entail? Did I hear her right?”

“Nonsense,” said Cassian with his eyes still closed. Maybe closed too tightly at her question. “Nothing but nonsense.”

Jyn tried to spark conversation, “Interested in a treasure hunt?”  
  
Cassian’s eyes remained shut. But he parroted her own thoughts on the matter, “Do I look like an idiot?”  
  
“No, you do not,” admitted Jyn with a smirk. “They always end the same: treasure hunts. Not as much gold as promised. If there’s any at all. Everyone turns on each other, and you have the big shoot-out _—_ ”  
  
“Or knife fight.” Cassian’s hand rose; brushing along his cheek like he was flicking at a fly. But Jyn recognized he was drawing attention to a long purple scar there. In a whisper, he explained, “Never went on a treasure hunt again.”  
  
Jyn nodded understanding; even if unseen. With Cassian, there was no way to gauge if you caught him in the split second his eyes blinked to take everything in, or when he was playing drunk again. “And what were you searching for? Aztec gold? A lost bank shipment from Chicago?”  
  
“... Documents,” he muttered simply. His head rolling backward in pretend sleep; further away like she couldn’t still make out his smug half-smile in the shadows there.  
  
Kicking his chair, Jyn challenged, “Just ‘ _documents_ ’? You’re a really shit storyteller!”  
  
“I never promised you the story,” his brown eyes were open again; dancing mischievously in the candlelight. “Just saying ‘ _no_ ’ to any type of treasure hunt.”  
  
“Understood,” Jyn leaned closer over the table. “No treasure hunts for us. I’m going to go proposition some more dullards with my services —” when Cassian visibly tensed, Jyn continued, “ — as an _exceptional_ thief and gunslinger. See if I can sniff-out any accomplices of Saw’s. If the whore comes back, maybe consider the ‘tego la rogo’? Or whatever you call it? You’re as tense as a bear trap, and that does nobody any good.”  
  
Jyn walked back to the bar trying to hide her smirk; relishing getting in the last word — and how Cassian’s eyes were now wide-open and staring down at his drink. His ‘witless drunk’ disguise had faltered. For once, he looked young. Young and bewildered. Jyn couldn’t contain her excitement in finding those traits in that man.  
  
She found just enough spring in her step to intercede and help a cornered young prostitute under the stairwell. Three drunks were pawing and groping, so Jyn cleared her throat with authority, “Madame wants a word,” she grabbed the younger woman and marched back to the bar.  
  
“Thanks,” the young whore whispered as the walked. “They thought a ‘freebie’ was deserved. One of them’s birthday, the louts!”

Jyn replied evenly, “Nothing’s free. … Even helping.”  
  
The whore groaned at her words; tossing her hips to the side unimpressed with Jyn. “Not really the sort to pleasure other girls—”

“I just need your help to figure-out a new accomplice: claims to know a tough-guy called the Black Beetle,” Jyn rushed to explain herself. “Not sure if he’s leading me on or not.”  
  
The whore leaned against the bar; wetting her lips. To a casual observer, it would look like they were flirting instead of conspiring for information. “I know that name: Black Beetle. And, if he’s really working for that guy, then it’s pretty dangerous work. They say the Black Beetle was a former slave, and has more than a few screws loose because of it. It’s not about the loot or money for him. The Black Beetle uses any excuse to attack the U.S. cavalry; or fuck-over the government’s interests in the territories. It’s personal for him, not business.”  
  
Jyn nodded; having first-hand experience with Saw’s obsession in undermining the government. But her real interests came to rise, “Ever seen my new partner before? He’s the dark one in the corner…”

“The mopey one?” The whore turned her body slightly to glance over before remarking, “Girls already marked him as a ‘ _no go_ ’. If that helps?”  
  
That was intriguing, “Is he dangerous? Had anyone problems in the past with him?”  
  
The whore dragged a skilled hand down Jyn’s arm; a frozen gesture that probably looked enticing to anyone not involved in the interaction. “Far as I know, he’s never been in here before. Just not interested in the ‘ _goods_ ’ so to speak.”  
  
Jyn wetted her lips as she thought. No new information, really. Saw was an angry runaway slave you didn’t want to get involved with. Cassian was unreadable by even observant whores’ special skill-set. But Jyn was ready to seize any opportunity to learn more, “Want a break? A couple minutes off your feet?”  
  
The whore laughed darkly, “Again: you’re not my sort of client. _Unfortunately_ .”  
  
“No, not me,” Jyn titled her head to Cassian in the corner. “No sex will be involved. Just sit and chat him up. See if you can get _anything_ out of him. I’ve tried, but can’t get a read; and he’s admittedly an ‘exceptional liar’.”  
  
“I don’t know if that’s allowed —”  
  
“It’s a couple minutes off your feet,” Jyn enticed. “And the Birthday boy and his friends won’t be messing with you in front of a loco Mexican with a mean stare. Win, win, win.”  
  
Jyn watched the young whore glide over to the corner; snorting when she heard a buttery voice greet Cassian with a low, “ _Hey, good-lookin_ !”  
  
So focused on watching the whore chat-up Cassian, Jyn flinched when a young blonde was suddenly inches from Jyn’s face. Wearing a lopsided grin as he announced, “Ol’ Ben said you might be interested in joining our treasure hunt. Name’s Luke —” he held out a hand to shake.  
  
Jyn, hesitantly, extended her arm. Luke shook her hand with such enthusiasm it almost took her arm out of its socket. “Jyn, but I’m not really—”

“Isn’t this exciting? I’ve been waiting, wondering my whole life,” Luke told her swiftly. “I knew I was destined for adventure; and that there was more to my father than people claimed. Now, to finally get some answers!”

Jyn thought of her papa: tethered to the back of _that_ man’s horse. _Galen Erso_ : from time to time she’d remind herself of the name. In all their family’s aliases, his real name was Galen Erso. Married to Lyra: deceased. No, not deceased: _murdered_ . Murdered the same night Galen was led away. They’d one child: _Jyn_ .  
  
The facts were vital. Jyn recited the facts: fearful they might slip away if she didn’t keep them fresh in mind. That, if she got to survive to an old age, at some point their names would be gone; her family’s history forgotten with time. But where she’d placed such importance on remembering the facts, Jyn should have long given up finding answers. What did answers really achieve?  
  
“Sometimes it’s easier not to know,” mumbled Jyn; gulping down the last of her drink.  
  
At this point, Jyn didn’t want to know _why_ they were gone; she wanted to know _who_ . Who shot her mama? Who took her papa away? But that would lead to the answer Jyn didn’t want to know: was Galen Erso (like his wife Lyra) dead? Murdered by the man in that fancy white hat. Why else had Galen never come find his only child? He had to be dead!  
  
Luke cocked his head to the side like a confused sheepdog, “What was that?”

Jyn waved a hand through the air; directing the boy (for he really was just a boy still) to ignore her, “Treasure hunts are not something I have the best record of, so I must decline joining your group. And I suggest doing _anything_ else. It’s not going to end well. Anyone you pick-up here would more likely kill you (leave the entire group to rot in the desert) than equally share the loot. And you’re not going to find anything worth knowing about your father.”  
  
There would be no answers; no heartfelt reunions between fathers and their children. Dead was dead, just as sure as gone was gone. The last glimmer of hope for answers doomed Jyn to this quest, instead of arriving to the domesticity of Boston and carving out a respectable life for herself.  
  
But Luke did not relent easily. Surveying her with surprising intensity, he asked, “But how do you keep going; never knowing the truth?”  
  
Jyn looked to the ground; anything to avoid the piercing gaze of this kid who seemed to understand too much. “You get on like everyone does: you _survive_ .”  
  
With uncommon chivalry, more like a romantic knight than a dusty cowboy, Luke took hold of Jyn’s hand; brushing his chapped lips over the top. A brief barely-kiss, and her arm lowered again to the grimy bar-top.  
  
Jyn couldn’t resist blushing. It was not everyday her callous and harsh self was mistaken for something worth any amount of gallantry. And Jyn suspected Luke was as used to bestowing such heroic tendencies as she was in receiving them. The act just as much hopeless as awkward, but it was something shared between two downtrodden orphans in a lawless saloon.  
  
“I sincerely hope you find whatever you’re seeking, Miss Jyn,” rushed Luke as he played with his hat now; flipping the worn-thing from hand to hand.    
  
Jyn smiled back, “Just Jyn.” ‘ _Miss Jyn_ ’ was the schoolteacher Jyn could never have been. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for. But keep your guard up! A criminal is always mindful of when to double-cross for a solid leg-up. Especially when gold is involved.”  
  
Luke sank backward; disappearing behind the backs of criminals, rapist, and murderers. Jyn still wishing he and Ol’ Ben decide to go on a fishing trip instead of their treasure hunt.  
  
“Having fun?” Cassian rested his forehead on her shoulder; struggling to keep upright. Even going in for a grope — Cassian was sure to grab nothing too offensive. His grip on her arm firm; but careful not to brush anywhere near bosom.  
  
Jyn’s first response was to shrug him off, but Cassian whispered deep into her ear, “Krennic’s men are here; stay calm.”  
  
Jyn glanced towards the only exit; surveying each and every male in sight. “Which ones?”  
  
“White hats,” explained Cassian as he hid his face against Jyn’s neck. “They are much too proud of those stupid white hats.”  
  
In a way, it made sense: white hats could be a status symbol. It took money to keep something white pristine in the desert; either expensively washed or they were constantly supplied new white hats.  
  
White hats clung to Jyn’s memory. The man in the white hat, so perfectly white it glowed like a phantom over the desert landscape. Sizing up the white hatted men (already spread out in the saloon and going table to table in their inquiries) Jyn was quick to assess they were young; too young to be the man she longed to point a loaded gun at.  
  
“What’s with the hats?” Jyn feigned indifference; like she only found the display comical.  
  
“No idea,” Cassian draped an arm over her shoulder. “We need to get out of here fast. You’ve started a fight or two before.”  
  
It wasn’t a question: Cassian knew Jyn had started fights and all-out riots in her prime. Jyn fought back a proud smile. “Who’s the target? One of the white hats?”  
  
Cassian shook his head the negative. “Me.”  
  
Jyn snapped her neck backward to stare him straight on, “Wouldn’t that bring more attention to you? The guy they already know and are looking for?”

“Possibly,” admitted Cassian. “But neither of us are going to hang around for long. You scream, punch me, and (in the chaos) we slip out the front. We’re long gone before they can even piece together that I looked like that one guy...”  
  
“Wouldn’t be difficult,” Jyn mused aloud to him. “Whole place is sitting on a powder-keg waiting to explode. Might just give these tough-shits a good ol’ thrill to be in a bar fight tonight.”  
  
Cassian smiled weakly as her, “Exactly. Punch me hard: I can take it!”    
  
“Okay,” Jyn agreed willingly; finally succeeding in shrugging Cassian off.  
  
Cassian slumped awkwardly against the bar, “Didn’t take too much convincing to get you to agree.”  
  
Jyn bit her lip, “Nah, I’m sure you can take a hit or two.”  
  
Cassian glanced up at Jyn through his shaggy hair, “ _Punch_ : Don’t just shriek, slap, and faint, woman.”  
  
He meant it as a taunt, and Jyn took it as such. Winding up her fist before screaming, “HOW DARE YOU!”

She threw all her might into the bone of her fist pummelling against his sharp cheek; avoiding the nose. Jyn told herself this was because noses bled so easily, but really she quite liked the shape of his. It would be a pity to break such a nicely shaped nose.  
  
But she took little care of his privates; kneeing Cassian in the groin to send him toppling over in pain. It hid his face from the white hats!  
  
Cassian took a group of five down with him; elbowing one as they fell backward; pointing to another in blame before all five started punching in a pile. Cassian rolled away; keeping his back to the white hat coming closer to view the fight.

Surveying Cassian’s work, Jyn knew she need to catch up. Demurely, she tapped a man on the shoulder; crashing a bottle down on his head when he turned to address her.  
  
“Stop that man,” Jyn shouted up into the rafters. “He’s got my wallet.”  
  
The scrambled bodies going after the non-existent crook were not for her benefit. In a room full of petty thieves, nothing was more enticing than the promise of easy cash. If there was a wallet, if it was hers, Jyn knew she’d never see it again. Men started bumping into each other for a frisk: all wallets and pocket watches now considered fair game.  
  
She raced to knee another man in the groin before punching him in the stomach; circling the madness of the saloon as she moved towards the door. In a frenzy, prostitutes rushed up the stairwell; staggering amongst the steps as they heckled and betted on the fights. In the aftermath, it would be one hell of a clean-up; but now it was much needed sport.  
  
The brawl was intensifying as Jyn punched another man; this time in the nose. He’d not had a nice one to start, so Jyn might be considered doing him a favor.  
  
When a hand reached through the mob to grab Jyn’s wrist, she’d every intention of breaking it! But Cassian peaked over a man’s shoulder, dragging her towards the exit.  
  
“That escalated quickly,” he marveled as they passed two men arguing about a slight done seven years ago to ‘ma’. Who was apparently a horse, not either man's mother.   
  
It was time to return to the town-limits where Kay was watching over the horses.  
  
“What happened?” Kay demanded as they ran towards him. Instead of continuing this line of interrogation, Kay slapped the reins of each horse into an awaiting hand.  
  
Cassian answered, “White hats. They’re patrolling Anselwood now, apparently.”  
  
“I’ve got an idea,” Jyn stammered a sudden realization to the group. “... Of where we might find Saw. But we’ve got to ride North.”  
  
“Why?” Kay looked about ready to argue with them both: _‘White hats wouldn’t know about Anselwood, Cassian. And why would we go North, Jyn Erso, when Santa Fe is to the West_ .’  
  
Jyn observed dryly, “If Saw’s feeling nostalgic all of a sudden (enough to want to see me again) he’d be somewhere that means something to us both.”  
  
Slinging a leg over his mount, Cassian nodded agreement. Pressing, when Kay puffed up to argue, that: “It’s a dead-end here. What have we got to lose?”  
  
Leaning back in her saddle, Jyn studied the night sky. It was a starry night. Clusters of white embers darted off into the horizon — there it was! Like her papa had taught a lifetime ago: the brightest star in the constellation Ursa Minor was Polaris. As a child, the constellation had been dubbed ‘the Little Bear’ and the Northern Star was its tail. Jyn also remembered camping-out with Saw at the red rocks; looking up into the night sky and him talking about the ‘ _drinking gourd_ ’.  
  
“ _Follow the drinking gourd, Little Star. Follow it North to freedom_ .”  
  
Jyn had a scratched memory of her papa’s accented voice assuring her, “ _Stardust: remember Polaris. It will always guide you home_ .”  
  
There was no time to consult Kay’s compass, so the three riders raced off into the night following the stars and the course set in them. All the while Jyn remembered vague promises of _home_ and _freedom_.


End file.
